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    Summary

    “My love,” she whispers, awestruck, and Gideon grinds her hips into the cold, open air. She's doing her best not to squirm too much, to stay on the bed as Harrow instructed. She's perfect. “Look at me.”

    Golden eyes. Eyes the color of warmth and longing and honey. Harrow would drink them. Drown in them, if she could.

    Her gut twists.

    Oh, she wants Gideon.

    She wants Gideon so badly that it hurts. The horror of her want burns through her, scorching her pride to soot.

    The tears are back, pooling in the corners of her eyes.

    “My love,” she chokes again. “My beautiful, incredible love.”

    --

     

    Harrowhark cannot believe that Gideon is here with her. She considers the logistics of a reality so hopeful that it could possibly still contain Gideon Nav. She wonders if she is still living in reality.

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